


Riding the wind

by hobgoblin123



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, Forced Masturbation, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Mild Painplay, Orgasm Delay, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobgoblin123/pseuds/hobgoblin123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their voyage home across Novatlantis, the Hunter confronts Damien with his suppressed longings. In his own way. Slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riding the wind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit whatsoever is intended.
> 
> A/N: This story was posted on fanfiction.net in 2014.

Listening to the heart-rending whimpers reaching his ears from the adjacent cabin, the warrior knight for the umpteenth time cursed his utter powerlessness against the horrors he was being forced to tolerate for a higher purpose on a daily base. As in every night since their departure, the Hunter obviously was bringing Sisa's deepest fears to life for her for his benefit, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

Damien pitied the young woman who had agreed on joining them on their return journey in order to escape a life of poverty and slavery with all his heart. Well aware that Tarrant had to feed in order to keep up his strength for the battle laying ahead, witnessing her suffering, he had repeatedly offered to stand in for her during the last two months, to satisfy the cravings of the adept's undead body and to hell with the consequences. But on each and every occasion, his ally had shot him a killing glance which had left no doubt that his altruistic offer was falling on deaf ears. "The topic is not up for discussion, Vryce. You knew from the very first why I burdened us with her presence, so don't act the hypocrite now. It doesn't suit you," Gerald had silenced his fervid objections, and that had been the end of the matter.

The Neocount's general behaviour had changed, anyway, and not for the better. Whether it was simply a bad temper born from fear of the Unnamed's revenge for breaking the compact or an attempt to cleanse himself of what he was wont to call the 'taint of humanity', or something altogether different, Damien had no idea, but fact was that Gerald had completely withdrawn into himself. If he wasn't needed for planning their route or discussing other topics of vital importance with Captain Rozca, he had accustomed himself to spending the entire time from dusk till dawn on the fore-top, making himself quite clear that any company of the human kind whatsoever wasn't welcome. There was no good-natured bickering any longer, no discussions about their mother planet Earth and the Church they both cherished, and slowly but surely the total silence was starting to grate on Vryce's already frayed nerves. Damn you, Merentha!

Rocked to sleep by the motions of the vessel despite his misgivings at long last, Damien was sinking deeper and deeper into a dream filled with visions of pale skin so silky smooth under his fingertips, of a light tenor moaning his given name and those molten pools of silver burning with a hunger not for blood and tears this time but for the no less sweet pleasures of the mortal flesh. The Hunter's skilled tongue licked his glans like an unkitten lapping up milk from a bowl, and it was heaven on Erna. But longing for a much closer physical contact, he pulled his lover upwards until they were face to face. Then he rolled on top of him...

And awoke from crashing onto the floor of his cabin with a resounding thump. What the hell...?

For a few seconds, the warrior knight couldn't make head nor tail of the situation. One moment, he had screwed Tarrant by a fraction of an inch, and in the next he found himself with his face pressed into a rag rug reeking of mould and the ever-present pungent odour of salt. Muttering a vicious curse under his breath, he struggled to his feet and poured himself a glass of water. After downing it in one, he reclined on his berth again and pondered the significance of his dream. It wasn't the first one wherein the adept and he had had it off with each other. Not by a long shot, in fact. But this didn't mean anything. Mustn't mean anything. It was just a sinister combination of a bad case of sexual deprivation and brotherly affection for the human soul caught in a vicious circle of demonic appetites and murder. Or so he told himself. But unfortunately, his body wasn't in the least listening to his prevarications.

Damien pushed down his pyjama bottoms with a resigned sigh and closed his fingers around his throbbing erection. Slowly, he started to massage his shaft, relishing in the feeling while replacing his hand with certain long, slender digits in his imagination. Although the Prophet of the Law had taught that nothing was wrong with the act of pleasing oneself in itself, the part of his brain which was still capable of thinking coherently cringed at the mere idea of using the very same man as a masturbation aid. Not to mention what had become of the founder father of his faith after his fall from grace. But pretending that the adept was jerking him off was such a turn on that he simply couldn't bring himself to put a stop to his lewd fantasies.

After a few minutes of continual stimulation, Vryce was rapidly approaching orgasm. Panting, he picked up the pace, his hand slick with his own fluids moving up and down faster and faster. The notion that Gerald was going down on him now, sucking his cock in exactly the rhythm he preferred above anything else, propelled his arousal to heights he hadn't thought possible in his wildest dreams. Flexing his buttocks, he concentrated the stimulation on the underside just behind the head, his fingers fluttering over his most sensitive spot until he thought he couldn't take it any longer. He was so very close now, but just a second away from reaching the point of no return, an icy blast hitting his feverish skin out of nowhere drew off his attention from the lustful feeling in his loins.

The organ in his hand utterly forgotten at a moment's notice, Damien warily eyed his surroundings, all his senses on the alert. Because of the closed porthole, the air had become much too sticky for his liking during the night, and the uncanny drop of temperature threatening to freeze the marrow in his bones couldn't have a natural cause. And there was more to it than that. All of a sudden, the shadows cast by the sparse furnishings appeared somewhat distorted and deeper than they had any right to be, providing a perfect hiding-spot for whatever unholy creature being on its nocturnal prowl for sustenance in human form.

Holding his breath, he finally let go of his flagging private parts and reached for the sword laying on the sea chest which had to stand in in for a bedside table. As soon as his fingers had closed around the pommel, he jumped to his feet and started a thorough search of his cabin, but no demonling with bared fangs and outstretched claws jumped at him from a dark corner. Only too willing to putting down the whole episode to a bad attack of nerves, the warrior knight shrugged off his anxiety and went to bed again. But he was still wondering whether to resume his so rudely interrupted activities when he perceived something he had never seen before.

Silvery particles of an unknown substance seemed to dance in the rays of the full moon falling through the small porthole. Squinting his eyes, Damien tried to convince himself that it was just ordinary dust, stirred up by his hasty movements. There was no denying that his lodgings badly needed a clean-up session. But dust usually didn't rise upwards, nor did it assume the shape of a man.

Vryce's breath caught in his throat as the tall frame he would have recognized among millions fully materialized right before his face. For once, the Hunter wasn't clad in his Revivalist attire but wore just a loosely belted dressing gown of midnight blue silk so dark in the eerie moonlight that it seemed to be woven of the heart of midnight itself. The thin, almost sheer fabric didn't leave much to the imagination against the light, and his mouth went dry at the sight of long limbs and the lean, sleekly muscled body.

Aware that loosing his head now could very well represent the last mistake he ever made, he choked off the hot surge of desire welling up inside him. _Stop drooling and put your grey matter in gear, you vulking horndog_ , he chastised himself. _This isn't Gerald. He has fed on that poor girl, so why on Earth and Erna should he pop up in your cabin in the deep of the night after giving you a wide berth for weeks on end, dressed as if he wanted to make your wet dreams come true? By woolgathering about getting it on with him, you very likely evoked an incubus that will fuck you senseless while feeding on your pleasure until you're nothing but an empty husk. Or maybe the bastard Calesta has sent one of his special gifts to punish you for your interference with his plans. Don't get caught in his trap, for heaven's sake._

For what felt like a small eternity Tarrant's simulacrum just watched him in rapt attention, its head tilted slightly sidewards. Then it floated towards his bunk in a motion so utterly alien to the mortal plane that it caused Damien's hairs to stand on end all over his body. His instincts screamed at him to either fight the apparition or make a bolt for it, but the unearthly silver eyes rooted him to the spot as surely as would have iron manacles around his wrists and ankles. Literally incapable of stirring a limb, he could only gape at the incredible scene as the creature casually untied the belt of its robes and let it slide off its shoulders.

His pale, unblemished skin illuminated by the moonlight, the Hunter or whatever had slipped into his shoes was a formidable sight to behold, and to his utmost horror Vryce felt his body responding to the alluring spectre gazing down on him with an amused smirk. Registering his reaction, the being cocked an elegantly arched eyebrow in a perfect display of mock deprecation. Then it languidly raised its right hand, and his own instantly mirrored the movement, straying towards his perineum seemingly on its own account. For a while, it just lingered there, the tip of his index finger touching his anal orifice. But after a few seconds of breathless anticipation, it slowly slipped inside.

For want of any lubricant whatsoever, the intrusion into his most private place burned like the fires of purgatory, and the priest desperately fought to regain control over his actions, but he was as helpless as a babe-in-arms. "Stop it, you vulking son of a bitch, who- or whatever you are," he spat viciously, his temper close to boiling point. "I don't know what you're hoping to gain from this, but I won't fall victim to your machinations."

The smile on the finely-chiselled features widened almost imperceptibly. "Oh yes, you will," the Prince of Jahanna whispered. "You've got no chance in hell to defy me, Vryce. Do you remember what I told you about the mind-set of the weak down in the caves of the Lost Ones? About the fear of being kidnapped? Raped? Naturally, a man of your bulk and quick sword-hand had no idea what I was talking about. The powerless child I once was would have been only too happy to keep out of harm's way, but you, you've brought about your downfall all by yourself. And now you're going to learn the hard way that pleasure and pain are just two sides of the very same coin."

Hearing the unmistakable threat in the low, composed voice, Damien felt the cold sweat breaking out on his brow. By now, he didn't harbour a sliver of doubt any longer that it was indeed Gerald Tarrant in person who was hovering over him like the angel of death ready to pounce on his cowering prey. No one else could know what the adept had confessed to him after being rescued from the fiery ordeal inflicted on him by the Master of Lema.

Sadly, the discovery wasn't as comforting as he would have liked it to be, not with his vis-à-vis ogling him as if he were an especially tasty treat. But his dread and abhorrence were overlaid with a wave of pity for his brother-in-arms as he at long last understood what the adept had tried to convey to him back in the rakhlands. Although it was his own digit penetrating him, he felt sullied beyond endurance. No wonder that the atrocities committed on him at a tender age had marred Tarrant's soul forever. "Gerald, please don't," he said imploringly. "This isn't your style. Whatever has been done to you, you shouldn't stoop to the level of your tormentors. It will do you no good."

"Is that so?" The Hunter chuckled maliciously. "If I were you, I'd rather worry about my own well-being, Vryce. But let's not waste our time with polite preliminaries, eh? The night isn't getting younger, and there's so much I intend to teach you. Shall we begin?"

Without paying any attention whatsoever to his shouts of protests, the Neocount of Merentha narrowed his eyes in concentration. Ashore, Damien could have summoned his Sight to See the tendrils of earth fae gathering around his feet, being at the beck and call of the most powerful adept who had ever walked their fickle planet. But as it went, nobody aboard the God's Mercy should have been able to Work due to the inaccessibility of the currents on the high seas, including Gerald Tarrant.

But when had the vulking bastard ever bowed down to the rules? In all probability, he was absorbing the power stored in the Worked steel of his blade into himself even from afar now. Not that Vryce wasn't deeply grateful for this sorcerer's trick which exceeded his own abilities by far. If his companion hadn't altered the course of the storm about to capsize the Golden Glory on their outward trip, they would have been rotting at the bottom of the ocean for months now. But picturing how the unbridled malevolence of the sword the Lost Ones had so fittingly named the 'Soul Eater' was invading his body, taking the last barricades of his crumbling willpower by assault and coiling around the defenceless labyrinth of his brain like an unclean constrictor snake, he couldn't help but shuddering. Then his finger curled very much against his will, touched a secret spot inside him he hadn't even known existed, and the breath hitched in his throat.

Obeying to the command planted in his brain by evil incarnate in the guise of an angel, he repeated the motion again and again until the initial faint spark of pleasure was growing to a veritable fire storm. As strange as it seemed, this felt even better than the usual jerk-off or being inside a woman, but very much to his dismay it wasn't quite enough to find release.

Half out of his mind with naked want, the warrior knight tried to apply more pressure, to rub rapidly back and forth with his fingertip, but failed miserably. Tarrant still dictated the rules, and he evidently had no intention of letting him off the hook any time soon. "For the love of God, Gerald, you're killing me," he groaned. "I have to... I need..."

"Just so. But right now, I determine at what particular time your needs will be satisfied. Don't you know the old saying that he who pays the piper calls the tune? Speaking about paying: I think it's about the right time to introduce you to the other side of the coin."

The Hunter leisurely dragged a fingernail transformed to a pointed claw from his sternum all the way down to his navel. An angry red line welled up in its wake, and Damien winced. But the burn of the injury paled against the surge of trepidation blooming inside him as he dared a glance at Tarrant's face so deathly pale in the moonlight. The delicate nostrils flared at the scent of his blood, and his pupils had dilated so much than neither iris nor the white of his eyes were visible any longer.

Mantling over him like a deadly bird of prey, the adept bent down and licked at the slight wound with a low, wistful sigh. His tongue traced a line of cold fire up to his thorax, combed through his chest hair and circled one of his nipples, just to bite down on the little nub of flesh without actually piercing his skin. To Damien's astonishment, the nip went straight to his groin, rekindling his arousal which had died down at the sight of his companion's frightening transformation with a vengeance. Squirming, he once again tried to intensify the stimulation, but all attempts were to no avail. "You vulking cock-tease," he growled, at the end of his tether. "If you've set your mind on driving me insane, you're well on track."

"It's not your cock that I'm teasing. When will you ever learn to be more precise?" Tarrant's face was still hidden at his chest, but there was no mistaking the undertone in his voice for anything but sardonic amusement. "But although I'm loath to admit it, you've got a point. Staying overly long on the plateau phase of sexual arousal without actually achieving orgasm could be detrimental to your health, and I still need you fully functional afterwards," the adept remarked matter-of-factly. "So let's get it over with. Feel free to scream for me, Vryce. I've Worked an Obscuring, and nobody is going to hear you but you and I."

Gerald placed an icy fingertip on his hand, and an utterly strange tingle seemed to radiate from it, permeating his flesh and bone until it reached the digit still working on the sweet spot located at the front of his rectum. Damien whimpered. The gentle massage allowed to him so far had been bliss beyond words, but it couldn't hold a candle to what he was feeling now. All at once, the sensation setting his nerve endings on fire intensified, reached a nigh to intolerable level, and at the same time the Hunter finally released his hold over him.

Sobbing with relief, he rubbed the small bump which brought him so much pleasure as hard and fast as he could, the nails of his free hand digging deeply into a marble white shoulder. In response to his transgression, Tarrant bit him again, drawing blood this time, and the added stimulus was all it took to send him spiralling down into the abyss.

Writhing in the throes of passion, the warrior knight clenched his teeth in order to stifle the outcry threatening to escape his throat. There was no denying that Gerald had just helped him to the most powerful orgasm he had ever experienced, but he'd be damned if he vocalized his lust by his command. As the last waves of pleasure spreading from his abdomen throughout his entire body were slowly subsiding, he started to pull out his finger, but a hand as cold as a midwinter dawn closed around his wrist like a vice. "Not yet, my pet. I'm not finished with you," the adept hissed, an ungodly red spark smouldering in the black windows to eternity which had once been human eyes.

Damien blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?" he blurted out with rising exasperation. "Either you've gone stark mad, not that this would come quite as a surprise, or you've lost track of the basics of human sexuality while enjoying yourself with chasing young beauties through your forest, Hunter. Ever heard something about the male refractory period? So just in case you're alluding to an encore, you're barking up the wrong tree. And make sure to remember that I'm not your vulking 'pet'!"

"But that's exactly what you are. Tonight you're mine, whether you like it or not. At my leisure, I can give you pleasure far beyond anything you can imagine. Or pain, for that matter. I can make you come again and again until your heart gives out under the strain, can let you beg yourself hoarse for your release on your knees or plant the illusion that I'm vivisecting you like my wife and children in your brain. It's up to me. Hence, I think it would be best to keep your tongue in check and play along. You might actually learn something. As for you loophole..." Tarrant smiled wickedly. "I told you long ago never to underestimate me. It seems to have escaped your attention so far, but you haven't spilled your seed. No ejaculation, no refractory period. It's as simple as that, really."

Fuming, Damien opened his mouth for a fitting reply, but whatever he wanted to say got stuck in his throat as his thrice damned digit developed a spooky life on its own again, bending and stretching without his help. "Bastard. Son of a bitch," he choked out through gritted teeth, dead set on suppressing any response to the renewed assault on his senses. Concentrating on the memory of the deaths of his companions with all his might and main helped for a while. But then the Hunter tired of toying with him, brought him to heel with the very same tingle which had driven him up the wall with pleasure a few minutes ago, and he was lost. Moaning involuntarily, he felt the tension rising in his abdomen again, felt his balls drawing up and his toes curling, and there was nothing he could do against it.

At the last moment, Tarrant's index finger slipped inside him, hit the mark with the sureness of a sleepwalker, and the eerie vibration instantly increased tenfold. Now he did scream indeed, yelling the adept's name again and again as his entire body was twitching uncontrollably in perfect unison with the rhythmic pulse deep inside him. Drowning in the lustful sensations, he was but dimly aware of the light tenor whispering "this is just a small appetizer, Vryce. If you're interested in expanding your knowledge, you know where you can find me."

Overwhelmed by the second mind-blowing orgasm within a quarter of an hour, Damien saw nothing but stars for a few minutes. When he had come halfway to his senses again, he opened his eyes and let his gaze wander around his cabin. His bedding was a crumpled mess and his body slick with sweat, but he could see neither hide nor hair of the cause for it. Completely taken aback by the adept's sudden vanishing act, he wondered whether he had dreamed the entire episode, but the long, still bleeding scratch on his rump soon convinced him otherwise.

Shaken to the core, he buried his face in his hands. What Gerald had done to him had been highly enjoyable on a purely physical level, but this didn't change the fact that he had forced himself upon him. For whatever reason, Tarrant had refrained from going all the way. But although he had spared him this ultimate humiliation, there was no denying that he had raped him in his own twisted fashion, body and soul, and he had no intention whatsoever of letting him get away with it.

Blinking back his tears, he pulled up his pants and slipped into his bathrobe. Then he made for the upper deck on wobbly legs. As he had suspected, the Hunter was standing on the fore-top, gazing at the vast expanse of water seemingly stretching to the rim of the world. Grudgingly, Damien set about the ascent. More poetically inclined souls could swoon over the wonders of the sea to their heart's content. But in his opinion, it was nothing but a capricious bitch filled to the brim with mortal perils he could very well do without, although not in the least as dangerous as the man he was about to confront now.

When he had reached the precariously swaying platform, he stepped at Tarrant's side, clenching the rail guard in a strange mixture of aiming for a secure hold and keeping his fingers from closing around his nemesis' neck. Not that strangling the undead bastard would do him any good, anyway, except of venting his anger. And Gerald had shown quite clearly that night that he wasn't in the least willing to be considerate of his human companion's sensibilities. Leniency wasn't one of his predominant character traits, to put it mildly, and launching an attack on him in his current mood would very likely shape up as stirring the proverbial hornets' nest, a not altogether advisable course of action all things considered.

The Lord of the Forest didn't move a muscle, didn't even acknowledge his presence but continued to stare at the waves glittering in the moonlight with wide open eyes. Beholding his clean, flawless profile, Vryce was forced to admit that his attitude towards him had indeed undergone a profound and rather unsettling change over the last months. _The Lord is my witness that you're really and truly the most drop-dead gorgeous son of a bitch I've ever seen_ , he thought dazedly. _You've just put more than one toe over a line which should have never been crossed, have been committing crimes beyond human reckoning for centuries without a shred of remorse, and all I can see now is your breathtaking beauty and the spark of humanity still existing somewhere in the bottomless chasms of your condemned soul. May God forgive me for my sins and deliver me from evil._

Having drawn several deep breaths in order to regain his composure, the warrior knight faced his brother-in-arms. "After everything we've been through together: why?" he asked with enforced calm.

"Why what, Vryce? I'd very much appreciate if you expressed yourself clearly."

Despite his best intentions, Damien felt his hackles rising once again. "As if you didn't know! Don't try to take me for a fool," he seethed. "But just in case your famed brain cells are suffering from acute amnesia all at once, I don't mind at all to commemorate your outrageous behaviour. What the hell has possessed you to show up in my cabin in that flimsy gown of yours and make me to... to..." Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to say it. "You can sugarcoat the bitter truth in your sick mind all the way you want to, Gerald, but you vulking violated me. How could you do this to me?"

"Violated you? Ah, there you are very much mistaken. I only provided an incentive. Gave you a slight nudge into the right direction, so to say. But my hold over you was never absolute. Even you with your mediocre capacities could have broken it at any time. But you went along because you wanted it, needed an excuse for giving free reign to your desire. As for 'why'..." The Hunter shrugged. "For quite a while now, I've been suspecting that something had changed in our relationship. It was about time to know for sure."

"'To _know for sure_ '? You can't be serious! If you really had the need to get things straight concerning my feelings for you, you could have just asked!"

Ever so slowly, the adept turned his head and looked him square in the face. "You're jumping to unverified conclusions again," he said quietly. "I became aware of your infatuation with me long before you realized it yourself. You've never been good at hiding your emotions. What I had to learn was my own point of view on the matter."

Not quite trusting his hearing sense, Damien was still goggling in baffled incomprehension when Tarrant bowed his head and kissed him, plundering his mouth until his head swam and his breath came in short, ragged gasps. After what felt like an eternity of sheer bliss, the Neocount of Merentha broke the kiss and smiled at him, truly smiled with genuine humour instead of sneering. "What do you think about a shovel of sand now, Vryce?" he breathed.

Before he could gather his wits, Gerald leaped onto the guard rail from a standing position, the motion so fluent and utterly inhuman that it took his breath away. For a few seconds, the adept just stood there, effortlessly holding his balance on the narrow piece of wood like an equilibrist. Then Coldfire flared up, casting a blinding unlight on the small platform. Within the restricted area, the cold was paralysing, turning Damien's breath into a white mist and freezing the droplets of spray on his skin. But he couldn't have cared less about the temperature as the anthropomorphic shape in the flames was transforming into something straight out of a fairy tale.

Tarrant's face was unchanged and his unclothed body still that of a man's in his late twenties, but the pair of huge, leathery wings on his back most certainly didn't belong to his basic equipment. Dumbfounded, the priest resisted the urge to pinch himself by a very narrow margin. All at once, he remembered sneaking off to a library section of the seminary in Ganji-on-the-Cliffs strictly out of bounds to the junior students in the deep of night. There, in an ancient tome bound in burgundy-red leather, he had come across a charcoal drawing of the Archfiend himself as their forefathers on Earth had imagined him. Other than the lack of clothes, the Hunter in his current incarnation looked the spitting image of the magnificent creature clad in flowing, jet-black robes, a crown wrought of iron on its proud head. _Lucifer after the fall, but his beauty utterly unmarred by his damnation_ , he thought with a violent shiver.

"If you're through with comparing me to a rather superfluous product of the human imagination, I'd like to invite you to a flight, Vryce."

The adept's amused voice brought him back to the here and now with a start. "A... a flight? What the heck are you talking about?" Damien spluttered.

Instead of gracing him with a verbal reply, Tarrant just flapped his wings and stretched out an inviting hand. When his reeling brain had finally processed what was expected of him, the warrior knight felt the cold sweat breaking out on his brow. "You have to be kidding," he protested feebly. "Being on this miserable crate in the middle of nowhere is bad enough. But at any rate, I've got some solid planks under my feet. You don't really believe that I'll trade them for thin air, do you?"

"Your wish is my command. At least for now," the adept retorted with a slight bow. "But mind, what you're going to miss out on. A remote bay on a small island, not palms swaying in the breeze, the full moon, just you and I without tiresome company... Doesn't this appeal to the hopeless romantic hiding behind your martial façade?"

"Alright, Gerald, alright. I'm getting the picture. You don't have to impersonate an overzealous employee of a travel agency." Trying to make up his mind, Damien raked his greying hair. In a way, he felt a bit overtaken by the events, let alone that the mere thought of leaving terra firma, or what counted for it on board of a ship, and being at Tarrant's complete and utter mercy while floating through the sky like a strange pair of conjoined twins was scaring the shit out of him. But on the other hand...

As if magnetically drawn to him, the warrior knight's gaze locked on the man who was still awaiting his decision on the rail, seemingly utterly untouched by the motions of the vessel. With his dark, veined wings, creamy white skin and silver eyes flashing in the moonlight, he looked every inch the vampiric demon he truly was beneath the beguiling veneer. The Darkest Prince of Hell, as the terrified population on the eastern continent called him in hushed whispers. Gerald was indeed a creature of darkness, an undead abomination existing beyond the grace of God since times long gone from living memory. But after the night's occurrences, still gainsaying that he felt a deeply-rooted affection for the human soul trapped in this monstrous shell would have been futile in the extreme. And there was no denying that he desired him with a hunger surpassing everything he had ever experienced, including the call of his God. He wanted to spread his legs for him like a woman, wanted to fuck him senseless until the rising sun forced his lover to retreat to his lightless hold in the bowels of the ship and then some.

What finally clinched it for him were the adept's promising hints at 'just a small appetizer' and 'expanding your knowledge'. "It's not the first act of madness you're putting me up to, and very likely it won't be the last," he grumbled with feigned annoyance. "But before we set off on our vulking pleasure trip, just answer me one question. Should I trust you?"

Evidently remembering their conversation in Kale at the beginning of their shared adventures, Tarrant chuckled softly. "I would say, in this particular case... yes. And now let's get going, Vryce. The dawn isn't far off. Two hours at most, and I'll have to take shelter. But strip first. The Obscuring still holds, and you don't have to fret about your modesty."

Damien blinked. Why on Earth and Erna Gerald suggested getting naked in preparation for their dubious enterprise he couldn't even begin to fathom. But his deliberations came to an unexpectedly abrupt end as his companion spread his arms in a perfect semblance of a gesture of blessing and let himself topple backwards off the rail guard. For a few seconds, the graceful arch of his body seemed to defy the laws of gravity. But then it gained momentum, hurtling towards the wooden planks below him like a stone. Horrified, he sounded a warning cry, but he needn't have worried. A mere fifteen inches above the deck, the Neocount rolled over, and the black wings started to beat the air at long last.

"You bloody show-off! Have you lost your mind?" Vryce yelled at the top of his voice. But when the Hunter soared up to him and threw him an inviting glance from under his long lashes, his ire was suddenly forgotten. In a blink, he shrugged off his bath robe and pulled down his pyjama pants with shaking fingers. As soon as he had accomplished his task, Tarrant's deceptively slender arms circled his waist from behind, pressed him tightly against his chest, and a moment later they were airborne.

The wind whooshing in his ears, Damien squeezed his eyelids tightly shut, sending a silent prayer of supplication at the address of their God that the adept hadn't overestimated his strength. Although the deprivation of the last months had reduced his bulk by a considerable amount, he was still by no means a featherweight. "You'd better calm down. Getting yourself all worked up is bad for your blood pressure," the Hunter admonished him. "Beyond doubt, you're less fragile than my usual passengers. But I'm well practised in carrying my prey, and you don't have to fear that I will let you fall to your death. This much I can promise you. And now open your eyes and see."

"How very comforting, Gerald," the warrior knight shouted over his shoulder. "But I'd rather keep them closed for now. Just thinking of the view suffices to give me the creeps. And what's there to gawk at, anyway?"

"The tides of the night. Its beauty, an entire world of colours and music enchanting far beyond anything your human brain could possibly envision. Other than in your dreams, that is. By the way, do you know that in some cultures on our mother planet it was customary that the husband gave his wife a gift on the morning after the consummation of marriage? I deem it rather unlikely that we'll ever tie the knot, but as you insist on indulging your baseless fear, sharing my Vision shall be my gift for you. Consider it as a token of my esteem."

A stunning image appeared before Damien's inner eye. At least sixty yards below, the God's Mercy and her companion ship seemed to glide over the water surface as gracefully as two sea gulls in full flight, their sails billowing in the freshening-up breeze. In the small hours, Erna's moons were already approaching the horizon. But on their never-ending cycle of death and rebirth, they cast a wondrous silvery light on the fathomless depths of Novatlantis which he couldn't help but admire. The loveliness of the mundane world paled against the sight of the delicate, purple strands of dark fae though, barely visible in the direct moonlight but so utterly strong in the shadowed areas. The very air seemed to be alive now with music not meant for mortal ears, eerie tunes composed of notes he could smell and taste and feel on his bare skin like the caress of a lover.

All at once, a white streak shot across the night sky. "Time to wish upon a star, Vryce. Another custom from Earth, although notably less reasonable than the morning gift," the Neocount purred into his ear. "As for my own wish..."

Something like an icicle slipped between his nether cheeks, and before the warrior knight could react or even comprehend what was happening, Tarrant was already inside him. The unearthly cold of his privates thankfully somewhat numbed the pain caused by the sudden invasion, but it still hurt, and he couldn't suppress a low groan. But then the adept started to thrust, twisting his hips in search for the most pleasurable angle, and his discomfort turned into something else entirely.

"For heaven's sake, Gerald, it's sheer lunacy! You'd better... concentrate on... keeping us in the air," he gasped out, but it was about the last halfway coherent sentence he would utter for a while. Coupling with him on the night wind, the Hunter picked up the pace, pushed him on with ever relentless vigour, and his mind blanked out. From far, far away, he heard his own voice screaming "oh God, yes, don't you stop now, you bastard," but with his climax tearing through him, the sequence of syllables conveyed no more meaning than the screech of a bird or the plaintive howl of a lone mountain wolf.

Damien was still basking in the afterglow when he was lowered onto a long, narrow strip of sand. Looking about, he had to admit that the adept hadn't promised too much. With groves of not palms shading the beach and the sweet scent of flowers perfuming the balmy night air, the nameless miniature island unquestionably was a lovely spot. But be that as it may, for the time being he was a lot more interested in the fingertips petting his balls. And in the fact that he was still rock hard.

"Keep in mind what I've taught you about your precious refractory period. Or the lack thereof. For certain reasons related to the wish I so illogically made, I once again suppressed your ejaculation. Just a part of it has been satisfied so far."

"Reasons? What reasons? You've already fucked the living daylights out of me up there. So what else could you be up to now?" Vryce inquired perplexedly.

As before, Tarrant opted for letting his actions speak for themselves and straddled him without further ado. Determined fingers closed around him, guided him where he had never been other than in his dreams, and then he was slowly sinking into a tight channel as icy as the glaciated peaks of the Dividers. The cold was like a living thing, diggings its claws into him and shaking him very much in the manner of a hungry predator intent on ripping chunks of flesh out of his kill. But when his lover started to roll his hips in a steady, hypnotic rhythm, he didn't give a damn anymore. "What else? Why, this, Vryce," the founder-father of his faith whispered, drawing back and slamming down on him again until he was buried inside him to the hilt. "And this..."

Bending forwards, the adept's mouth came to rest at the curve of his neck. His lips parted and his tongue darted out, licking at the spot where the blood was flowing hotly under the thin layer of skin and flesh. Petrified, Damien held his breath and waited for the sharp pain he remembered so well from the one occasion Tarrant had buried his teeth in his already wounded arm, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead of succumbing to his predatory instincts, the Hunter raised his head and offered him a clear view on his features.

When faced with eyes black as a true night and glittering canines so much longer and pointier than a mortal's had any right to be, the warrior knight's heart skipped a beat. But whatever could be said about his hellish trappings, it was still Gerald, the very same man he deeply cared about, who was riding him with reckless abandon now, his stifled sounds of pleasure competing against the eternal sounds of the sea. He could feel his sexual partner's need to be what his nature demanded him to be in his very bones, his desperate hunger for the rivers of life coursing in his veins, and he made his choice without thinking twice. Smiling, he cupped Tarrant's face and kissed him, letting his tongue wander over the tip of his canines as a gesture of acceptance. Then he directed his head down to his throat again.

Razor-sharp fangs pierced his skin as gently as a summer breeze, and from then on everything became a blur of raven black wings sheltering him and the weird pulling sensation as Gerald was draining him of his blood, of sighs and moans and frantic motions until the world exploded into a shower of falling stars and blackened out completely soon afterwards.

When Damien came to again, he was deep in the bowels of the ship. In the dim light of the storm lantern undoubtedly left burning for his convenience, he could see the Hunter resting at his side, his hands clasped on his stomach and his chest utterly still. With his alabaster complexion and his face in perfect repose, he resembled a recumbent effigy rather than someone belonging to the realms of the living. No traces whatsoever of the passionate lover panting and jerking in his arms as his orgasm had finally overtaken him remained, and the warrior knight felt a cold shiver of dread running down his spine.

_Merciful God in Heaven, what has become of you?_   he thought dejectedly. _You've made love to a blood-sucking fiend, to a walking corpse which should have been laid in its grave a thousand years ago. Even if you pray yourself hoarse on your very knees each and every day for the reminder of your life, you won't be granted absolution for such a heinous deed. You are damned now, Vryce, damned as surely as if you had struck a compact with the Unnamed yourself._

But then he remembered how the adept had held his fire and waited for his consent before satisfying his primal urge, and he simply couldn't bring himself to regret what had come to pass. Not honestly. Gerald was the night to his day, the cold heart of Hades to his living warmth and the criterion of his faith. But as unlikely as it seemed after a millennium of murder and torture, there was still hope for him, and if he had to pay for the Prophet's long overdue redemption with an eternity in hell, so be it. But for now, he verily intended to make the best of the bargain. Yawning, he wrapped his right arm around Tarrant's waist, leaned his head against his shoulder and closed his eyes for a well-deserved nap.


End file.
